


wednesdays are for rimming

by trillingstar



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Blow Job Fridays Challenge, Comment Fic, M/M, Rimming, Thigh Holsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-19
Updated: 2011-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>slutty!Rodney, rimming, and thigh holsters.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	wednesdays are for rimming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/gifts).



> Written for melagan[ who needed rimming in her life liek whoa](http://melagan.livejournal.com/238837.html?thread=3111925#t3111925). Unbeta'd comment porn. Sorry about the title.  
> 

  
They come in hot, hotter than usual, the wormhole sealing up literally at the last second; Rodney's ears ring, he's shaking, and he doesn't realize that he's still gripping his gun with both hands until John's peeling his fingers off of it, and even then he has trouble controlling the trembling. John looks at him, eyes wild and bright, a streak of blood and grime on his jawline and Rodney aches to touch him.

Teyla and John help Rodney to his feet and he sways for a sickening moment before finding his balance. He watches Ronon twirl and re-holster his blaster, watches Teyla shaking her head at a medical tech, watches Elizabeth and John arguing about something, John pointing at Rodney and Elizabeth puts her hand on John's arm and Rodney's eyes narrow. He swallows thickly, his ears pop and the noises of the control room magnify and rush into awareness.

"—the infirmary!" Elizabeth snaps, and she's glaring at John.

John glares back, but he moves toward Rodney.

Looping an arm around Rodney's shoulders, John says, "Hey, buddy," and Rodney turns his face blindly toward John, seeking comfort, breathing in the familiar smell of John under the layers of cordite and excitement. John squeezes, once, arm dropping down, and Rodney lets John steer them into the corridor, down the hallway, and they're almost at the transporter when Rodney pushes open a side door, grabs a handful of John's shirt and hauls him inside.

The room or closet or whatever is empty save for a few broken chairs and a low desk – or a high coffee table – that's missing one leg and it's perfect.

Rodney pins John to the back of the door and kisses him fiercely, biting at his lips and scrabbling at John's tac vest, muttering _off-off-off_ under his breath. They help each other shrug out of the vests, ripping their shirts off over their heads, and the heat of John's bare chest against his own makes Rodney groan loudly. They rub against each other, Rodney sliding up and down, pushing against John, and John's mouth is open against Rodney's, his tongue hot and slick. John's chewing on Rodney's neck and Rodney thrusts his leg between John's and they're moving together, grinding, and the friction feels amazing.

Grabbing hold of John's waist, Rodney spins them around, then shoves John away; John stumbles, plants his hands on his hips and glares some more, his hair sticking out, lips swollen, chest flushed with arousal.

Rodney is going to eat. him. up.

"Open your pants," he says, lowly, a snarl forming when John doesn't move fast enough. "Fine, I'll do it."

John moves quickly after that, unsnapping the bands at the top of his thigh holster and withdrawing his gun, reaching out and putting it on the seat of one of the chairs. Rodney allows it – he's not looking to get his foot blown off, here – and then he's tugging on the button and smoothing his hands inside, around John's sides and ass, then shoving the material of pants and boxers down to mid-thigh, as far as it'll go with John's holster still on.

Rodney helps John turn around again, nipping at the backs of John's shoulders, and then pushes hard enough that John folds easily over the surface of the low desk.

"Wha-ufff," John says as Rodney tips the table onto the bad leg, sending the whole thing off-balance. He slides down a couple of inches before his thighs catch on the tabletop, and he's struggling to get an arm underneath, so Rodney smacks John's ass with an open hand, twice in quick succession, and John goes limp.

Rodney smiles in satisfaction. He palms John's asscheeks, pushes them apart, nudges in close and licks.

John makes a strangled sound.

Rodney licks again, pushing his face in closer, flicking the tip of his tongue back and forth over John's asshole, eliciting groans from John. Working his hand between John's legs, Rodney takes hold of John's cock, stroking, then pulling it back, over the taut waistband of John's pants. He keeps stroking, his thumb a constant pressure right under the head, and then flattens his tongue, taking long licks from John's balls up to his asshole, again, again, again. He noses against John's balls, pushing his tongue between them, sucking one, then the other into his mouth.

He hears John groaning, muttering unintelligibly. John's trying to tip his ass up, minute shifts against Rodney's cheek. He stops when Rodney returns his tongue to John's asshole, pushing inside and wiggling, pulling out and licking.

"Rodney," John sighs. "God, yes."

Rodney leans back, wipes his mouth with his hand, takes bites of John's ass, sucking at the skin and enjoying a possessive rush when the color stays, pinkish circles and toothmarks on John's skin. Sliding one hand down John's thigh, he wraps his fingers around the straps of the holster and pulls, and the angle of the table and gravity work in tandem. Rodney grabs hold of an asscheek, licks his way inside, and the whole table rocks as he pushes John forward and back, his ass sliding onto Rodney's tongue, against Rodney's tongue, and Jesus, it's good, it's so good.

John's breathing hitches and stutters with every pull, he's talking now, making filthy promises about _next time_ , when he'll suck on Rodney's nipples until they're sensitive to a puff of breath, how he'll slide his dick into Rodney's sweet, tight ass, how he'll make Rodney feel as good as Rodney's making John feel right now.

Rodney groans, rubbing at his cock through his pants.

Tightening his grip on the straps of the holster, he pulls John and the table back, faster now, sucking, first tightening his tongue, poking with it, then softening it and licking, listening to John run out of words and fall back on the sluttiest noises that Rodney's ever heard. God, he loves those noises, loves finding new ways to force them from John's throat. He takes hold of John's cock, stroking it firmly, thumb rubbing on John's balls.

Suddenly John quiets, still breathing heavily but he's quiet, and Rodney tries to make his tongue move faster, tries to handle the awkwardness of using his left hand to jerk off John, make it smooth, make John come.

"Oh, I'm--" John says, gasping for breath, and his body stiffens, the muscles in his ass and thigh tight. "I'm gonna—"

Rodney lets go of the straps, sucks two fingers into his mouth and then pushes them into John, twisting, still jerking John's cock. From the waist up, John's body appears to levitate up off of the table, every muscle in his torso and back taut. Rodney sees the line of tension in John's shoulders, and then John cries out, pleasure released in a long, drawn-out moan, and he slumps onto the surface of the table.

"Oh my god," John says in a thready voice.

Carefully, Rodney pulls his fingers out. He presses a kiss to John's empty balls.

"Ungh," John grunts.

Rodney looks down; he has John's come on his boots.  



End file.
